I'm giddy with excitement, but as I am me, I'm also a bundle (bindle? carry-on?) of nervous energy. I have a to-do list that I'm frantically checking off, I keep re-checking to make sure I have enough snacks and anti-anxiety meds for the plane (don't judge me, Normals!), I'm pretty sure I'll forget something vital, like my underwear or my paper-thin veneer of sanity, and also (because I am me) I pause every so often to bathe myself in guilt that I'm leaving my family behind. For four days. How will they survive?
Oh, I do want to be better at traveling, and I'm getting there, but every time I leave home I get anxious and teary. I can't help it. I love home.
I love the people who are at my home. (I got a new iPhone, by the way. I am enjoying the photo apps. In case you can't tell.)
And the pets. It's hard for me to be away from these guys, too.
("We get it, Bradley, you're making liberal use of the depth-of-field filter.")
On the other hand, I also like dreaming of home, which is best to do when you're off on adventures.
You don't have to tell me how lucky I am, because I know.